


Why is every ship called Enterprise?

by BakerStreetBeth



Series: The Adventures of Andromeda Sheffield [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Enterprise, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Accidental Time Travel, Multi, Red shirt love, So many ships called Enterprise, lots of people die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerStreetBeth/pseuds/BakerStreetBeth
Summary: After an accident at work, Andromeda Sheffield wakes 250 years in the future; even this far away from what had happened to her in the past, trouble still follows when an old face comes back to cause trouble with the new life she's creating.





	Why is every ship called Enterprise?

This is a little strange; beyond strange, in fact, almost heading into what most would classify as abnormal. I was lying on my back in what could only be described as a coffin with windows, but as I don't remember getting put into it, I quickly realised it had happened after I fell asleep that last time. That was at the hospital after they told me that I was dying of blood poisoning, and gangrene; the doctor said that it was down to the cloth that they used to stop the bleeding after I broke my leg. They said that because it had been such a complicated break they weren’t able to save it; they also told me that, while my fellow students had done their best to stabilise the injury, they had done more harm than good by giving me blood poisoning and the gangrene that followed.

Noises were filtering through to me, but it was like I was underwater; a mixture of different voices and mechanical bleeping was filtering through the lid although a very loud hiss made me jump, but I quickly realised that the noise was only someone letting me out. As I looked around, a man in a blue top came over and, hunkering down next to me, said “Take it easy, kid. You’ve been asleep for at least two hundred and fifty years.”

“Well done, Bones. Tell her that she’s been asleep for a quarter of a millennia before we even know when she’s from,” a younger man, in yellow, scolded. “What’s your name, pet? What was the last date you can remember?”

“Andromeda Sheffield; the date was July thirtieth twenty-nineteen. It was a Tuesday; never did get the hang of Tuesdays. Where am I?” I replied.

“This is the Starship Enterprise, registration NCC one-seven-oh-one. The stardate is twenty-two sixty-nine point two thirteen. And from the date given, you have been suspended for precisely two hundred and fifty years.” A man with weird eyebrows and pointy ears told me.

“Meaning what exactly?” I couldn’t work out what the date meant.

“It’s the thirtieth of July twenty-two sixty-nine.” The man in blue, Bones, said absentmindedly while running a little hand-held device over me, peering intently at the screen on another device in his other hand.

“Eeep!”

The man in yellow said, “Nice one, Spock. You’ve just given her brain freeze even before Bones has made her better. ‘Sides, Bones, what’s wrong with her?”

‘Bones’ had been scanning me with a strange contraption said, while sitting back on his haunches, “Ummm, a weird combination of blood poisoning and left-over gangrene. She’s going to have to spend some time in Sickbay, just until I’m sure that it’s been treated.”

“Why does he call you ‘Bones’?” I asked, curious now my brain had come back online.

“Cause all I’ve got left is my bones and my little girl; I’m really Leonard McCoy, CMO of this blasted bucket of bolts.”

“Nice to meet you,” I addressed the man in yellow. “Who are you?” 

“Jim Kirk, I’m the captain of this here tub. That’s Spock, and Sulu’s over there.” He said, jerking his thumb towards the pointy-ear guy before pointing to a dark-haired man in yellow, who gave me a friendly grin and a wave.

“Fair enough; can you treat whatever’s wrong with me?” I asked McCoy.

“Yes, easily; now, speaking of treating you, young lady, we need to get you to Sickbay. Can you walk?”

“No, I lost most of my right leg to the gangrene. I don’t suppose that you’ve brought any crutches?”

“’Fraid not; you can hop, or get carried but please bear in mind, Sickbay’s a long way to hop.”

“I’ll get carried then. Who’s going to be doing the carrying?”

As he thought about the answer, Spock said, “I will carry Miss Sheffield, Doctor. I am the strongest here.”

“Alright, don’t drop her, mind.”

I lifted my arms, only for him to pull me into a reverse fireman’s carry. As he straightened up, all the blood rushed to my head, and I addressed his knees, “Alright, then. I hadn’t seen that one coming.” I could hear laughter, which evidently meant that they thought I was being funny, even though I hadn’t intended to be.

A while later, we swished through another set of doors; there were a lot more people here, mostly wearing blue. After depositing me on a bed, Spock told McCoy, “I must leave now, Doctor. My duties are on the bridge.”

McCoy scowled, and muttered, “Pointy-eared hobgoblin,” at Spock’s back, as he left.

Eventually, he realised that I needed treating as he started rushing around Sickbay, to find the things he needed. The next week or so passed in a blur of people and a variety of ‘hypo sprays’, but when two men came in, things started to perk up; an older man in a red shirt with a ripped shoulder, the skin beneath bleeding quite heavily, entered with another redshirt wearing man slung over his shoulders while the other was younger and in the smoking remains of a yellow shirt, occasionally slapping at patches of shirt that looked likely to catch fire again as he trailed behind.

“What did you do?!?!” McCoy hollered, rushing over to the trio. 

“Well, the panel was on fire; when it started to spit fire at us, I pushed him away and he fell down the stairs and hit his head. It was an honest mistake!” The one in yellow exclaimed, waving his arms and clearly oblivious to the fact that the shoulder of his shirt had caught fire again.

“Aye, doc, it was a simple mistake. He was trying to protect the lad; he just got hurt in the process. ‘Ere, Chekov, your shirt’s on fire, again; right shoulder, you wally.”

As the younger man started to slap his arm out, I could process the accent of the older man quickly. “’Scuse me, mister; are you from around Edinburgh?”

The man in red looked at me, “Aye, lass, I am. How can ye tell?”

“Accent; I spent two years around people with it for my apprenticeship.” A movement over his shoulder caught my attention; Chekov was spinning in circles while attempting to swat his shoulder out, giving up after a few more circuits to yank the whole thing up over his head and throwing it to the floor, grabbing a fire extinguisher off a nearby wall to put the now flaming pile out with a few well-aimed blasts of powder.

He carefully laid the man onto a bed and came over, chuckling at the antics of the man in yellow, “What did ye do there, then, lass?”

“Bus mechanics; almost qualified, too, but I died two sodding days before the final exams.” I then realised that I was so far away from home, I almost broke down.

“Don’t cry, lass, a lot of the colleges are still there. They should let ye qualify easily; we are three years away from home, mind.” He thought, “Wait a dang minute, lass; what century are ye from?”

“Twenty-first. Why; does it matter?”

“Know a fair bit of that century engineering. Might be able to teach ye on the way back. Chekov knows a fair bit too, don’t ye lad?” He said, raising his voice so that the curly-haired man heard

‘Chekov’ hopped off the bed that he had been pushed onto by the doctor after putting the smouldering pile of now white fabric into what I concluded to be the bin and made his way over. “Da. Mister Scott, why haven’t you had your shoulder seen to?”

“Good point, lad. I’ll catch Christine on me way out. Anyways, get to know the lass, will ye, Chekov? Speaking of you, lass, what’s ye name?”

“Andromeda Sheffield.”

“Nice to meet ye, Missy. I’m Montgomery Scott; Scotty to most. Andy okay with ye, lass?”

“Yeah, that’s fine; I’ll have to call you Monty cause, to me anyway, Scotty is a breed of dog.”

As Monty hooted and left to be attended to by the blonde Nurse Chapel with her usual delicate scowl on her face and a tapping foot, I turned my attention to the guy standing next to me. He was kind of cute, with gently defined muscles under the palest skin I’d seen on someone with brown hair. I looked up into his face and realised that his eyes were the same colour as the eyes of my first (and very quickly ex) boyfriend, Liam. I noticed that his ears had gone pink and he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“So, you’re Russian then?” I asked because it was getting kind of awkward. 

“Da; my name is Pavel Andreievich Chekov. It is very nice to meet you, Miss Sheffield.” His eyes flickered to my face as he said this. She is very pretty, his face seemed to say, but such a shame about what happened. 

“Andy, please,” I said, with a glare that would’ve killed a weaker man. “When do you think that McCoy will let me out?”

“It depends. Your... conditions were very severe. Doctor McCoy will probably let you out in a few days.”

“Okay, seems legit; what’s up with you then? It looked like second-degree burns.”

“Da, it was; one of the engineering panels was on fire and I got in the way when it started spitting.”

“Ouch! That must have hurt. Who’s that guy you were with? Is he a friend of yours?” 

“Oh, him? He is one of the other engineers; I don’t actually know what his name is.”

“Oh, right. There a lot of people on board then?”

“Hmm, da,” he seemed distracted.

McCoy walked over to us and scolded Chekov, “I told you to sit down twice already.”

“Извините!” Chekov darted off and climbed back onto the bed, looking sheepish.

McCoy looked vacant, “Come again?”

“Sorry! Sorry!” He replied, with a shy grin.

McCoy turned to me, “You should be able to leave tomorrow, but for now I’m going to put you over there, next to Moorhead, just so you'll have someone to talk to when he wakes up.” I sat up, slid off the bed and let him help me hop to the bed next to him. He then left to carry on his work. 

When he came around, he looked a little disorientated as he sat up and took stock of his surroundings, including the half-naked Chekov across the room from us. "Hi, Andy Sheffield." I introduced myself, hoping to be able to have a chat. His double take was almost comic, "Rich Moorhead. Have I seen you around here before?” 

“Unlikely, I'm what most would consider new here. He's quite fit, isn't he?"

“He is, isn't he? Cute to boot and I’ve never seen him with his shirt off.”

I laughed, “Fair enough. What part of America are you from?”

“South Carolina. You sound like Scotty; are you Scottish?”

“Nah, I went to college there; grew up not far from London, actually. Last time I saw home was nearly two hundred and fifty-five years ago.”

“Last time I was at home was almost two years ago. You’re looking good on two hundred plonk.”

“I was two hundred and seventy-two last birthday.”

“Really? I was only twenty-four on my last birthday.”

“No, dummy, I was twenty-two; got put in cryonics.”

“Someone told me that there are two types of that thing. What type were you?”

“I was the dead type. Gangrene and blood poisoning; I had extreme cases of both, so I died within the week.”

His eyes went wide, “What happened?”

“Badly broke my leg. So badly there were bones poking out and some of it been crushed to what was basically powder. They used a dirty cloth to try to prevent severe blood loss but ended up giving me blood poisoning instead.”

“Nasty! Makes being knocked out seem pretty mild.”

I noticed that Jim Kirk had entered and was coming over.

“Hello, you two; having a good gossip?” 

“When have you known me to pass up on a good gab, Jim?” Rich replied, clearly not caring that Jim was the captain.

“Why you here then?” He squinted at him, bemused as to his injuries

“Got knocked out in Engineering.”

Nodding, he looked at me “Know why you’re here. Why’s there a half-naked Chekov over there?”

“Second-degree burns,” I replied.

“How do you know?” He asked, puzzled.

“Had a fair few myself. ‘Sides, only second-degree burns blister like that.”

“Ah. When you get released, I'll get Uhura to find you a room. And some clothes.” He said, giving me the once-over.

I frowned and looked down at myself. I found that I was still only wearing the new hospital gown that Nurse Christine had helped me into and a single slipper on my remaining foot. I didn't have much use for the other one as there was no foot to put it on, but I had wedged it on my stump to save having to carry it. I also realised that my old teddy-bear had been pulled out of the pod and I had been absentmindedly stroking its soft head as a comforting reminder of my past.

Kirk looked at my bear, “What on earth is that scruffy thing?”

“That 'scruffy thing' is a teddy-bear, you moron.” Bones said coming over. “Don't you remember that tatty old giraffe that you showed me at the Acadamy?”

“Bones! You swore you'd not bring Binky up!”

“Yeah, but as I remember you had pulled his head off! Cried for a solid hour until I mended him.” Bones said, scowling at the captain.

Before someone could reach over to steal my spare slipper, I butted in by saying “My Uncle kept stealing mine whenever we met; I always cried until he gave him back. Luckily for me, my sister was his next victim.” 

Everyone laughed before carrying on with whatever they had been doing before, leaving Rich and I to gossip.


End file.
